Chapter Twenty-Four
“Richard!” Darcy rose to greet his cousin, his usually composed countenance brightening with genuine relief.
The parlour was empty but for him and Bingley; the pair had been passing the late morning with a friendly game of cards, seeking to occupy themselves whilst the ladies were otherwise engaged.
“Darcy, Bingley, well met.” Richard grinned, tugging at his waistcoat as he strode forwards with energy. “I must say, Netherfield is everything my cousin described and more. You are fortunate to have secured a lease so conveniently located.”
“The neighbourhood and society are exceptional as well.” Bingley pumped Richard’s hand with a fervour that made him laugh. “We are pleased you have arrived. Your timing is ideal, as we are hosting a ball in a few days.”
“I am terribly sorry for the delay,” Richard said, his grin softening.
“After the harvest was brought in, there were other matters requiring my attention at Linden Grange. All is well now, and I am free to enjoy myself—and, I daresay, to ensure you two do not drown in the attention of the local belles.”
Darcy’s lips twitched at that. “Your presence is timely, indeed.”
Darcy offered to show Richard to his chambers, and Bingley readily agreed, citing a need to see to the steward about some matter of business. As they mounted the stairs, the shrill tones of Miss Bingley could be heard drifting from a nearby sitting room.
“I hope you are prepared for her…attention,” Darcy muttered, a smirk breaking through his carefully controlled expression. “I anticipate the chance for a reprieve. She has been hanging on my arm since the moment of my arrival.”
Richard chuckled, shaking his head. “I shall offer what relief I can, but I assure you, I have no interest in the lady. Perhaps if her attentions are divided, she will become less irritating for us both.”
“You are a true friend,” Darcy murmured drily as they reached the guest chambers adjacent to his own. He opened the door, allowing Richard to step inside before closing it firmly, the muted bustle of Netherfield’s corridors falling away.
Richard glanced around, taking in the comfortable, well-appointed room before dropping into one of the armchairs by the hearth. The fire crackled softly, and for a brief moment, the two cousins simply sat in the quiet, letting the warmth settle around them.
Darcy’s gaze was distant, the tension in his jaw evident. He launched into speech with no preamble. “Aunt Catherine wishes the family to gather at Rosings Park for Christmas—do you think it wise to send for Georgie?”
Richard considered this. “I would not decide just yet. If Mrs Annesley’s reports remain positive and Georgiana feels ready, it could do her good to be amongst family. But Georgiana’s current state is…”
“Fragile,” Darcy finished quietly.
Richard sighed. “Precisely. If you believe remaining here at Netherfield is best, especially if Bingley wishes your company, I will support you in it. Georgiana’s well-being outweighs Aunt Catherine’s expectations.”
Darcy let out a breath, the lines at the corners of his eyes softening. “Thank you, Richard.”
His cousin’s expression turned warm, a rare seriousness settling between them. “She is strong, Darcy, and she has you. That will be enough.”
For a moment, the conversation stilled, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. The quiet was comfortable, the kind that only came between family who knew each other well.
At last, Richard leaned back, a mischievous gleam returning to his eyes.
“Now, tell me more of the society here. Bingley’s letters were full of talk about the local families—and certain young ladies.
” Richard had been introduced to Bingley after inheriting Linden Grange.
The two shared many personality traits and became fast friends.
Darcy rolled his eyes, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Prepare yourself, Richard. Hertfordshire’s society is lively, indeed.”
“And Miss Bennet?” Richard asked, his eyebrows lifting.
Darcy stilled, just briefly, before replying, “Miss Bennet is…exceptional. Bingley likes her very much. She has several sisters.”
Richard’s grin widened, and he leaned forwards, ready to pry further, but Darcy only shook his head, unwilling to be drawn further—at least not yet.
Elizabeth adjusted her bonnet as she and Jane trailed behind Mary and Mr Collins, who walked ahead with determined steps, his cane tapping rhythmically against the packed earth of the lane leading towards Meryton.
The air was crisp, holding the sharp promise of winter, and Jane’s cheeks were bright with the exertion, though her eyes shone with relief at being well enough to leave the house again.
“It is a fine morning for a walk,” Jane said softly, her gaze drifting to the hedgerows where the last of the leaves clung stubbornly to the branches.
Elizabeth nodded, offering her sister a small, reassuring smile. “It is. Tommy and the younger girls will be most pleased when we return with the promised sweets and ribbons.”
Jane’s answering smile was warm, but her gaze shifted ahead, where Mr Collins walked, occasionally glancing to where Mary kept pace beside him with quiet determination.
“Lizzy,” Jane said, lowering her voice, “do you think Mary is… being too forwards? She spoke only with our cousin at breakfast, and now she follows him so closely.”
Elizabeth felt her lips press together, the familiar mix of guilt and frustration settling in her chest. “She is determined,” she said carefully.
Jane’s brow furrowed, her concern clear. “But we barely know him, and—”
“I know.” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle, but firm. “And you are right to be concerned, dearest. But—” She stopped, biting her lip as she looked at Jane’s kind, open face, wishing she could pour out the worry and fear that gnawed at her heart every day.
They both knew, though neither of them would say it aloud, how precarious their situation was.
Their cousin, with all his pompous manners and absurd speeches, would inherit Longbourn one day should the worst befall Tommy.
Many children did not live to adulthood.
Besides, if Mary wished to secure a future for herself—and for all of them—then perhaps her determination was not so ill-advised.
Elizabeth forced herself to speak, the words tasting bitter despite her calm tone. “It may be…prudent…for Mary to…attach herself to Mr Collins. He is a smart choice—our sister would do well as a parson's wife.”
Jane glanced at her, eyes wide with quiet distress, her lips parting as if to protest, but she fell silent, understanding without the need for explanation.
Elizabeth looked away, her gaze fixed on the distant outline of Meryton, the rooftops peeking above the trees.
Guilt pressed heavily against her ribs, tightening around her lungs until she had to draw a careful, steady breath.
She longed to confide in Jane, to share the fear that tangled with her every thought of the future, to admit how desperately she wished for something different, something better for them all.
She imagined telling Jane everything: how she despised the idea of her sister tying herself to a man she barely knew, how the thought of security warred with the dream of love and independence.
How the fear of exposure and scandal, of losing Longbourn, and of watching her sisters shunned by their neighbors, kept her awake at night.
But she could not. She could not burden Jane with that fear.
A face flashed through her mind, dark, proud, and impossibly solemn. Mr Darcy. Elizabeth blinked, her steps faltering for just a moment. The idea of confiding in him, of unburdening her fears to the man who may have the means of ruining her family’s life forever, was ludicrous.
She shook her head, a humourless smile tugging at her lips. Mr Darcy was the last man in the world she should tell.
“Lizzy?” Jane’s hand slipped into hers, warm and comforting.
Elizabeth squeezed it gently, offering a smile she hoped was reassuring. “It will all work out, Jane. It must.”
They continued on towards Meryton, the crisp air carrying the scent of distant chimney smoke and the faint promise of ginger biscuits from the shops.
Ahead of them, Mary’s earnest voice drifted back as she attempted to engage Mr Collins in conversation about the latest sermon she had read.
Her words were met with his sensible, quiet replies.
Elizabeth’s heart tightened, but she lifted her chin and walked on, determined, as always, to face whatever was to come.
Meryton was lively that morning, the market square bustling with the cheerful clatter of carts and the calls of vendors hawking ribbons, buttons, and sugared almonds.
Elizabeth and Jane walked arm in arm, their bonnets tilted against the pale autumn sun as they made their way past the rows of stalls, having promised Kitty and Lydia they would find them the prettiest ribbons the market town could offer.
Near the confectioner’s shop, they came upon a small cluster of officers in bright uniforms, laughing and talking with some of the local ladies. One of them, a familiar, friendly face, noticed Elizabeth and Jane immediately.
“Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth!” Mr Denny called, stepping forwards with an eager smile. “What a pleasant surprise to meet you here this morning.”
Elizabeth returned his smile warmly. “Good morning, Mr Denny.”
“I must introduce you to my friend,” Denny said, turning to the man beside him. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, allow me to present Mr Wickham. He has only just arrived in Meryton.”
Mr Wickham’s smile was charming, easy, and warm as he bowed. “It is an honour, ladies.”
Denny continued, “I am determined to convince him to join our militia here, though he claims he is still undecided.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity sparked. “Have you been long in the area, Mr Wickham?”